


For the Love of Wildflowers

by AroJade (AlleyCatSunflower)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst, Backstory, F/M, Headcanon, Jealousy, One-Sided Attraction, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyCatSunflower/pseuds/AroJade
Summary: "Now that you have a home for the first time, your life is beginning to feel too valuable to lose. You have the boss to thank for that, but your tongue is far clumsier than your fingers, so you'll have to rely on something more than words to tell her. A portrait of herself on her first night at the age of nineteen, framed in wild roses. There's no harm in that much, right?"Knowing Rose is off-limits doesn't make it any less painful for Lunarre to keep his distance, and a charcoal sketch can never be enough to repay her for providing the only home he's ever had, but the least he can do is try. Basically follows my estimation of how Lunarre joined the Scattered Bones, and the source of the instability that ultimately led to his malevolence. Contains some spoilers re: his backstory and theirs.





	For the Love of Wildflowers

She's more thorn than rose, really, and that's what you like about her.

The boss sits in the firelight with her head thrown back in laughter at some trivial joke from Talfryn, and her smile tugs at your lips as you sketch her likeness in charcoal. Isn't she perfect? At the tender age of nineteen, she's already a better killer than you'll ever be, and she's been at it longer too.

You would never have thought her capable of murder if you hadn't tried stealing from the Sparrowfeathers a year or so ago. They must have seen you skulking around, but they didn't act against you until you tried absconding with a jewelry box. Before you could so much as pick it up, you were on the ground with the boss kneeling over you and pressing her knife to your throat. Those reflexes were much too quick and violent for an ordinary merchants' guild.

You were actually surprised she let you retreat to lick your wounds, but you couldn't stop thinking of how effortlessly they'd overpowered you. You'd always had the advantage of a tall frame and a fierce expression, so you were used to people offering you whatever you wanted, but you relied entirely on intimidation to carry you through. You may be physically fit enough to throw punches, and you may have taught yourself to use a knife before you could even use a pen, but you had no real techniques to back up your demands.

 _They_ did.

If you wanted to be stronger, they could undoubtedly teach you how, and you were desperate enough that even your life didn't seem like too much to lose—so, since you didn't have anywhere else to go, you followed them to test your skills. They let you do it to test their skills in turn, which were by far better than yours, because they caught you every time.

Eventually, you started asking if you could join them instead. If you couldn't take what was theirs, the next best solution was to try sharing it, and then you might be able to learn from them without also learning the differences in the taste of dirt across Glenwood. The boss didn't let you, of course—made some ridiculous excuse about how theirs was a family business, so they couldn't take in any outsiders.

You made sure she regretted that after you started spending more time close enough to their campfire to overhear their conversations. You may not be the best at theft, but you could sneak around and listen just fine. They never openly revealed their identities as the Scattered Bones, but you knew enough of the jargon to understand they were talking about killing someone.

It was also much easier than you thought to beat them to their next target—some unlucky bastard in Ladylake. Your fingers are deft enough that you could probably pick a lock in your sleep, so all you had to do was wait for the guy to come home and then shove your knife into his throat before he could scream. You never knew killing could be so simple. (Well, there  _was_  more blood than you expected, but other than that, everything went according to plan.)

The boss arrived an hour later to take care of her target, and found you waiting for her in his place. You rested a foot on your victim's lifeless chest, grinned, and asked her, "How about it?"

Judging by the look in her eyes behind that mask, she considered killing you in place of her target, but rather than follow through, she opted to initiate you into their number instead. It felt like a trial, her vouching for you, her false family clamoring to end you too, but the boss won out in the end. They all warned you that they'd kill you the second you showed any hint of betrayal, of course, but you swore you wouldn't. You didn't care what they claimed to be, or why they killed who they killed. All that mattered was that they agreed to teach you the tools of the trade.

Now that you have a home for the first time, your life is beginning to feel too valuable to lose. You have the boss to thank for that, but your tongue is far clumsier than your fingers, so you'll have to rely on something more than words to tell her. A portrait of herself on her first night at the age of nineteen, framed in wild roses. There's no harm in that much, right?

They've already warned you that since they all consider one another family, and you're no exception, you're not allowed to date anyone. Even if you were, the boss wouldn't look twice at you, so you just keep quiet and try not to cry when the loneliness starts aching at your core late into the night. What else can you do?

She isn't like the other lovers you've had, if you could call them lovers when love had nothing to do with it. The boss takes only the best, and you're far from the best in any sense. You almost want to keep her portrait for yourself, because that's the only version of her you can really have, but you need to give her  _something_.

By the time you look up from the finishing touches, to your confusion, the boss is the only one still sitting at the campfire. "What are you working on over there, Lunarre?" she asks, tilting her head and quirking a curious eyebrow. "You didn't even hear me say to find me something nice for my birthday. Everyone else is out searching for something they can call a gift." She shakes her head. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do with you guys…"

Getting to your feet, you brave an uncertain smile in her direction. "I was actually  _making_  your gift," you say, approaching the boss, and your heart starts beating more frantically. You've never been half so scared in a fight as when you're talking to the boss. "Here." You sink down a respectful distance away from her and offering her your latest sketch.

Her eyes widen in delighted surprise as she accepts it, and holds your sketch up to the firelight to admire her own likeness. "Hey, thanks," she says, and gives you a smile that freezes your heart mid-pulse. "I had no idea I look so amazing in my ordinary outfit. It's probably the flowers, making me look all fancy." Her voice is light with somewhat self-deprecating humor. "But thank you!"

You resist the urge to contradict her and tell her she's gorgeous on her own, and instead clear your throat. "You… gave me a reason to live," you say hesitantly, and your throat closes up in a convulsive swallow as you hope she can't hear your heartbeat hammering against your chest. You've never so much as tried to broach a subject like this before, and you need to be very careful not to imply anything that will get you killed. "I—I just wish I could do more."

You try your hardest, but you can't keep a note of doubt out of your voice. You came to kill, but you haven't been allowed on any missions yet, and you're no merchant. You may have thrown out your conscience years ago, so receiving more than you deserve never bothers you, but you still crave the boss's approval—and to get it, you need her to think you're useful.

The boss looks at you almost sharply with those icy blue eyes, but her expression softens so quickly you think you might have imagined it. "You have," she says, and your heart leaps at her praise. "I mean, you're one of us. I know you haven't had a lot of chances to prove it yet, but someday…" She trails off, staring thoughtfully through the flames, but there's no need for her to finish the sentence.

Hearing such conclusive proof that  _you are needed_ —from the boss herself, no less!—is exhilarating, to say the least. An impulse flashes across your mind to pull her into your lap and kiss her, but you're not so desperate for her touch that you're willing to die for that yet. All you dare to do is gaze at her, taking down every detail of her appearance in your head, so that maybe you can remember well enough to draw a second portrait for yourself.

It's not long before your thoughts degenerate into an unintelligible storm of formless fascination and desire, but the wind picks up as if in a warning, and you stir yourself out of something like a dream. Tearing your eyes away from the boss, you turn your face up to scowl at the stars. Sooner or later, you  _know_ she's going to be the death of you, if this relentless fluttering in your heart is anything to go by. Why must you always want what you can't have?

A motion in your peripheral vision distracts you, and as your eyes slide back over to the boss, your breath catches. She's not alone anymore. Someone's standing next to her, a blur of green and black and brown and white, and the firelight glints off medallions on a top hat as he settles into place beside her.

The breeze turns frigid in apparent disapproval as it brushes past your face, tugging restlessly at the portrait in the boss's hand as if urging her to let go. When her grip on it tightens instead, the wind gives a last resigned sigh along with the stranger, and both are still, but you can't shake the feeling that behind his hat and hair, he's glowering at you in mistrust.

Annoyance sparks in your heart, kindling into anger within a few moments. He has no right to interfere, especially since you already  _know_  you can't have her. There's no need to rub salt in those wounds, much less act like she belongs to him when you've never even seen him before.  _Hypocrite_ , whisper your thoughts. She's not yours either, but you're just as jealous.

As much to quiet your mind as to tell off the stranger, you narrow your eyes and prepare to ask what he wants with the boss—but before you can say anything, she cuts you off with a glance in your direction, then traces your stare to the man beside her. She evidently doesn't see anything, however, because her eyes flick back to you immediately.

"What are you glaring at?" she asks, her voice light with amused curiosity. "Did you think of someone else to put on the hit list?"

You frown in confusion, opening your mouth to tell her, but as you blink for the first time in what seems like minutes, you realize the mysterious man has vanished as if he were never there at all. You blink a few more times for good measure, but he doesn't come back. His presence felt real, and you haven't been drinking tonight, so maybe the invisible world around you is more than a myth after all.

"I-it's nothing," you tell her eventually, the first lie you've ever told the boss, but something in your heart says you saw a seraph—and a darker voice you've never heard before says yes, you'd like nothing more than to kill him.

Either way, you know you haven't seen the last of him yet.


End file.
